


1:00 AM, The Sidewalk in Front of 'Pa Murphy's Hideaway'

by turn_turn_turn



Series: Um, Hello - A Meet-Cute AU Series [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meet-Cute, hark! a flirty Steve appears, if you like your hurts mild and your comfort with a side of 'what a fucking dipshit', just kidding he makes it work anyway, too bad he is also a biohazard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 18:39:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8928586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turn_turn_turn/pseuds/turn_turn_turn
Summary: "Ugh. Don't smile for a bit, champ." Bucky pats him on the shoulder. "Not unless you want to traumatize some people."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Meet-cute premise: You're a Disaster and apparently I'm Damage Control. 
> 
> (We all know which is which.) 
> 
> Warning for on and off screen fisticuffs. Also a few bloody noses. Also a few guest appearances – excuse me, guest STARS.

Bucky stumbles out to the street for a smoke just after midnight.  

He feels like he's been awake for days and feels like he's been sitting in his little cubicle for longer. Why he had voluntarily agreed to a shortened deadline he has no idea, but his op-ed piece on healthcare for veterans is due on his editor's desk by tomorrow morning and after a full day of battle with the backspace bar he _still_ can't get the thing down to size. Goddamn unrealistic word counts. He's already done a comprehensive Adjective Purge - maybe if he just abbreviates everything?

Ugh.   

He's zoning out, taking drag after drag and staring off into the middle distance, when his attention is suddenly grabbed by a door bursting open across the street.  

A tall, towheaded dude shoves through the door, dragging a pair of men out by the scruff of their necks. A fourth man follows closely behind.  

The two guys Blondie is manhandling are quite obviously drunk and also quite obviously in the midst of an altercation, their uncoordinated arms reaching out to slap or punch any part of the other they can reach.  

Once his feet are firmly planted on the sidewalk, Blondie gives each man a shove that propels them in opposite directions, his voice raised in authority as he instructs them to go their separate ways. The guy is pretty built, with bulging muscles straining through a criminally-tight, striped t-shirt, and his pushes send both men staggering.   

A glance at the awning above the doorway tells Bucky the place is a dive bar of some kind; there's a faded shamrock barely visible on the grimy, weather-beaten fabric and a neon sign flashing the succinct advertisement 'BEER' in the window below. Bucky figures Blondie must be the bouncer for the joint.

Unfortunately, despite his commanding tone and firm shoves, the drunks don't seem inclined to take Blondie's advice - they're fighting to get right back in each other's faces, shouting loudly and belligerently. The fourth man suddenly joins the fray, jeering and clearly vocalizing his allegiance to the shorter of the two brawlers.   

Bucky is too exhausted to focus much on what is being yelled, but Blondie's clear, reproving Dad Voice provides a calming backdrop to the chaos of the little scene. Bucky lets his mind drift, his eyes flicking back and forth between the arguing men like he's the spectator of a particularly volatile and uncoordinated tennis match.   

Suddenly the tenor of the shouting shifts and Bucky's mind focuses quickly just as one of the men raises his fist and swings. Bucky watches, as though it's happening in slow motion, as Blondie leans forward and pushes his own face into the path of the punch, which lands with a sickening crunch that Bucky swears he can feel in the backs of his own knees.   

Fucking _ouch._   

The bouncer goes down, sitting heavily on the concrete with a muffled 'Oof,' blood alreading pouring from his nose. The three other men take one look at him sprawled on the sidewalk and then scatter.   

Bucky is across the street before he's even registered the movement of his feet.  

He crouches down next to well-muscled-blond-bouncer-guy - the closer vantage point forcing him to correct his mental address to ' _very-_ _very_ _-_ _well-_ _muscled_ -blond-bouncer-guy-holy-shit' – and reaches out to steady the man's shoulder.  

"Whoaaaaa, hey there, buddy. Easy now," Bucky tries to soothe him.    

The guy gently prods at his leaking nose, looking dazed, before registering Bucky's presence and looking over at him - and okay, ' _captivatingly_ _-blue-eyed-_ _and-_ very-very-well-muscled-blond-bouncer-guy' it is.   

"You alright, pal?" Bucky squeezes the shoulder under his palm. "That guy really clocked you - Jesus, you can take a punch."  

"Oh c'mon," the man mutters, offering Bucky a sweet, sheepish smile. "I had 'em on the ropes."  

Bucky snorts despite his worry. "Using your fuckin' schnozz as a shield isn't a prime battle tactic, bud. Any reason why you felt the need to interfere face-first?"  

The guy shrugs, his eyes not leaving Bucky's face. "They weren't listening - it seemed like the only option available."  

"Yeah, 'cause the saying is 'when God closes a door, _jump through a plate glass window_ _,_ _'_ " Bucky scoffs. "I don't see why you didn't just knock 'em all down right off the bat – you could've taken all three, I bet."   

The dude shakes his head slightly, the movement causing him to wince in pain. "I'm paid to break fights up, not join in."  

"Honestly I think your call of duty to, ah -" Bucky pauses to look up at sign again "- 'Pa Murphy' only extends to the door. Once they're on the sidewalk you should just let 'em work it out amongst themselves."  

"Awe, it was two to one – wasn't fair." The guy smiles at Bucky again, and this time the charm of it is dampened by the fact that all of his teeth are now outlined in blood.  

"Ugh. Don't smile for a bit, champ." Bucky pats him on the shoulder. "Not unless you want to traumatize some people."  

"But if I can't smile how amb I supposed to flirb witchu?" the man asks, the swelling of his nose clearly starting to affect his speech.  

Bucky's stomach flips embarrassingly. "I think the adrenaline is making you giddy, you dope. We ain't flirtin'," he protests.   

"Mhmm, well _you_ might not be – I sure am. Does adrenaline make you hallucinate, ya think? 'Cause I swear, you're the best lookin' guy I've ever seen - It's a lil' harb to bedieve." Another blinding, gruesome smile.   

Bucky looks down at the guy, wide-eyed with concern. "Whoo boy, you always this smooth? Or are you just fuckin' _concussed_?"  

"I'mb'ot concussed – I'm _Steb_ _e_ _,_ " the guy mutters, blinking owlishly.   

"Well, Stevie, I think we'd better call you an ambulance."  

"Awe, don't do that – too expensive. You think the brand-new, part-time bouncer at 'Pa Murphy's Hideaway' has got money to blow on medical care? Don't get me started on the American healthcare system." Suddenly Steve's eyes are clear, insistent, the skin between them furrowing. Then the furrow lessens. "I'll just go to the clinic, my friend Sam's on call tonight - he'll fix me up."  

Bucky eyes him anxiously but slides his hand off Steve's shoulder – his firm, warm, impossibly-tight-t-shirt clad shoulder. 

"How far is this clinic?" Bucky questions. "I don't think you'll make it too far on your own – you'll walk into a streetlamp."  

"Oh, it's just a few blocks. And who knows, maybe some handsome gentleman will offer to escort me." And this time Steve actually _b_ _ats his_ _eye_ _lashes_ _,_ which are impressively long and - well, _pretty_ , Bucky has to admit.   

Bucky snorts again. "Scratch that – you'll start feeling up the streetlamps, not walking into them. Geesh, Casanova, focus less on the charm and more on the blood clotting, yeah? You're drippin' like a faucet."  

Bucky helps lever Steve to his feet, a process made just slightly more awkward by the fact that Bucky has only one hand to offer him. Once upright Steve lurches a little and wipes his palm through the mess under his nose, but seems more than capable of walking unassisted.   

Bucky's not about to let the guy wander off on his own, though - he's clearly a human disaster. Who knows what sort of trouble the dude could get up to? Bucky is just being protective, that's all. He's a gentleman.  

A gentleman who is _by no means_ casually checking out his blood-spattered new acquaintance.  

No way.   

Even if said acquaintance appears to have a very tight, perky -   

Sparing only a momentary thought for the unfinished document on his laptop upstairs, Bucky waits as Steve steps inside the bar to notify the bartender of his departure and then falls into step beside him as they head for the clinic.   

They make their way down the street in companionable, slightly awkward silence, and after a few blocks Steve veers left into a parking lot.   

An ambulance is parked to one side of the clinic's entrance, two men in EMT uniforms loading equipment into the back.  

One of the men glances over as Steve and Bucky approach, letting out a whistle when he catches sight of Steve's busted face.  

"Steven Grant Rogers, what in the fuck are you getting up to tonight?"   

"Oh, you know," Steve mumbles from behind the hand he is currently cupping under his nose. "Just business as usual, Samuel Assface Wilson."  

"You're a trash fire, I ever tell you that?" Sam – Bucky figures this must be the friend Steve had mentioned - asks, and Bucky notices the cute little gap between his front teeth as he speaks.   

"Yeah, yeah. Gotta be a day that ends in 'y.'" Steve rolls his eyes. "You got any bandages in that bus or what? Hey, Clint," Steve nods to the other EMT, who grins back at him in a familiar way.   

"Hey, Rogers. Didn't I tell you to pick a better safe word, Stevie-boy? Reciting the full lyrics to 'America The Beautiful' takes too long - by the time you get going on 'purple mountain majesties,' you're already in trouble," Clint jests, gesturing to Steve's blood-smeared face.   

"Ha ha," Steve grits out pointedly, glaring at Clint. "Why don't you get over here and I'll show YOU trouble -"  

"Not fucking likely," Clint snorts. He pulls an iPad out of the pocket of his windbreaker and waves it around as he moves toward the front of the ambulance. "It is Sudoku-and-fruit-rollup o'clock, boys - aka Clint's Magnificent Mid-Shift Break Time. Sam, I'll be in the cab - let me know if you need any help fixing up the Duke of Hazard - except, you know, please don't."   

Sam flips Clint the bird without looking away from his inspection of Steve's face.   

Bucky spends a brief moment wondering how he ended up sharing the evening with the Millennial Three Stooges. He then spends an even briefer moment hoping that neither one of these hunky paramedic dudes is Steve's boyfriend.   

It's brief. Very brief.   

Sam gestures for Steve to take a seat on the tailgate of the ambulance while he hops up inside and rummages through a cupboard for supplies.   

Jumping back down, Sam slides on some rubber gloves and begins to pack gauze in Steve's nose with an efficiency obviously borne of regular practice.   

"Lettt meee guesssss," Sam drawls, turning Steve's chin this way and that, running some sort of test with a small flashlight. "An injustice occurred and you had just the bone structure to put a stop to it. Am I right?"  

"Asshole. Don't embarrass me, Sam – this one's still on the fence about going on a date with me." Steve raises a hand in Bucky's direction. "And all this blood is cramping my style enough."   

Bucky stifles a snort, wanting to make a quip about Steve's supremely unstylish khakis, but stops himself, feeling that it would be a bit rude, under the broken-face circumstances.   

Sam obviously doesn't have the same reservations.   

"You say that like you've got style otherwise, Captain Irons His Jeans," Sam mocks. "Don't try to put lipstick on a pig." He squints critically at his handiwork and grabs another fold of gauze.   

"Whatever, you fucknut," Steve sighs, not seeming overly offended. "And don't you dare start flirting with him yourself, either – it'll be Claire all over again."  

"Did someone say my name?" a voice calls, and Bucky turns to see a pretty woman in a dark grey, zip-up jacket over teal scrubs sidling over to them from the direction of main entrance.  

"Claire!" Steve brightens as the woman enters his line of vision, sitting up straighter and causing Sam to fumble the gauze and start grumbling under his breath.   

"Well, well, what have we here?" Claire smirks, raising one elegant eyebrow. "Hey there, Baby Rogers – I see the new gig is treating you well."  

"Spectacular." Steve nods somberly, earning some more grumbling from Sam as he attempts to secure a strip of tape across the bridge of Steve's bobbing nose.   

Claire hums distractedly and then jerks her head in Bucky's direction. "Who's the beefcake?"  

"Steve's new boyfriend," Sam mutters, still fiddling with Steve's swollen face.   

"Do he's dot," Steve mumbles. "He's being resistant to my many charms." He flips a hand vaguely, encompassing the ambulance, the bloodstained muscle-tee, the bloodstained khakis, and possibly also Sam, who is now swearing under his breath and trying to force Steve to stay still through sheer force of glare.   

Bucky opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out.   

"Hmm, even with all that going on?" Claire beats him to the punch, gesturing over Steve's impressive frame. "I'll admit it's a little gory at the moment, but you're like a ripped, handsome granola bar of wholesomeness – who wouldn't want a bite of that?"  

"Who indeed," Sam grunts, pulling off his soiled gloves with a look of exasperation.    

Steve just smiles at Claire dopily, going a bit pale. "Dawe, fanks Claire."  

Claire swivels to address Bucky. "So don't you? Want a bite of that?" she presses.  

Bucky frowns at her briefly before turning a scowl on Steve. "So, what, if the charm fails you have your friends browbeat prospective dates into submission? Is that the drill?"   

"Only if it's working," Steve shrugs. "Is it working?"  

Bucky eyes Claire warily; she looks like a very capable sort of person. And, judging by the scrubs, she may also be the sort of person that knows her way around a scalpel.   

Bucky shrugs back. "A little bit, yeah."   

Steve beams, swaying slightly. "Then yeah, absolutely. Guilt him a little bit for me, Claire, will ya? Work the injury angle – maybe use your technical jargon to make it sound more heroic."   

Bucky snorts derisively but then finds himself staring at the blood darkening the front of Steve's t-shirt, wondering idly if maybe Sam will have to cut it off, you know, for medical reasons?   

And oh God, it _is_ working.   

Bucky quickly pulls his gaze away from Steve's pecs, feeling himself flush. Unfortunately his eyes land on Claire's, and the look he finds there does nothing to ebb the flow of blood rushing into his cheeks.  

Claire smiles like a shark. "I think we hooked him, Rogers. You owe me for the assist."  

Steve beams again, fist pumps and then promptly passes out, slumping over backward out of Sam's grip.   

Bucky lets out an embarrassing little squawk of dismay, but Sam and Claire hardly look fazed.   

"I'll go get a chair," Claire sighs, already walking back toward the clinic's entrance.   

Sam wraps his fingers around Steve's wrist, taking his pulse. "Just another day that ends in 'y,'" he mutters, shaking his head slowly.   

Bucky spends a long moment wondering just how he got mixed up in this little melodrama.  

He really ought to quit smoking.   

Then he catches sight of the section of pale, fuzzy ankle between the edge of Steve's grungy high-top and the hem of his khakis and feels an odd jab of tenderness. _Very_ odd - the guy dresses like a giant version of Calvin, minus the Hobbes, his self-preservation instincts are, well, _concerning_ , and he's a complete stranger.   

All of these people are complete strangers. And Bucky has a deadline.  

He should leave.  

When Claire comes back a few minutes later with a wheelchair Bucky follows the little procession inside without a moment's hesitation.   

He'll put an extension in with his editor first thing in the morning.   

  

 

\---  

 

  

 **A few months later...**   

  

Sam comes back from Claire's bathroom with two tampons and a pair of cuticle scissors.   

"You know I have to deal with foolhardy idiots all damn day," he groans. "All I wanted was a nice, relaxing night out at a comfortable bar, just a few drinks with friends in a pleasant atmosphere – no blood, no broken bones, no medical emergencies of any kind. That's all I wanted."  

"Then you should probably know by now not to invite us along," Steve mumbles, head tipped back to stop the blood from leaking freely down his face.   

"Dat's true," Bucky agrees, pinching his own nose in the hope of not dripping onto Claire's couch and staining the upholstery. "Dis is really your'on damb fault, Wilsom."  

"I suppose it is," Sam mutters darkly, kneeling down in front of the two of them and cutting the tampons in half. "Though I think a decent amount of the blame falls on you brawl-hungry assholes. Alright, Idiot Number One - you're up."  

Steve leans forward and screws up his face as Sam gingerly inserts the tampon halves into his dripping nostrils. "Thanks, Sam. And it's not like we started it -"  

"Mhmm – but you just _had_ to finish it, didn't you? Okay, Idiot Who Should Know Better – your turn," Sam slaps Bucky's knee.   

"You'b gadda hell ofa bedsibe mander, you doe dat?" Bucky grimaces as his nose gets the same treatment.   

"Fuck off, asswipe. Jesus, every fucking time with you two – I really can't take you anywhere," Sam grouses, walking over to the kitchen sink to wash his hands.   

Claire comes around the corner from her bedroom, pulling on a fuzzy sweater. "I told you we should've left your white boys at home," she tells Sam.  

"Like your friend Matt is any better than these dipshits. Remember how he showed up to our barbecue? That was the biggest black eye I've ever seen – it was like he had an extra head."  

"True." Claire shrugs. "Look on the bright side – at least they won't be able to make out in front of us for two to three weeks." She gestures to Bucky and Steve's swollen faces.   

"That's what you think," Bucky and Steve say in unison, both of their voices a little muffled by the soggy cotton stuffed into their nasal cavities.   

"You're both gross," Sam tells them. "Now you're going to sit there quietly – and _chastely_ – long enough to assure me that neither of you has a concussion, then you're free to leave. You can go bare-knuckle box with some bears at the zoo, or whatever it is you guys do in your downtime."  

"Fine, fine," Steve shrugs, settling back against the cushions. "Can we watch something while you're monitoring us, at least?"  

" _Chopped!_ " Bucky urges.   

"Fine." Sam grabs the remote. "But no yelling at the TV – I know how you get, Barnes – and keep the faces to yourselves. The gore isn't going to improve your usual amorous display, I can tell you."  

"You're just jealous," Steve sniffs.   

"Yeah," Bucky agrees. "You're juss mab dat we're da hodder couple."   

Sam snorts. "Yeah, that's totally it. Now shut up and try not to leak grey matter all over the sofa."   

"Whadeber – moobe, you're block'g da screen."  

"I hate you guys."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot tell you how much I chortled while typing 'Sam flips Clint the bird.' GET IT?? The bird flips the bird the bird? Hahaaaaa, I am chortling again right now. 
> 
> And OKAY this is a tangent based on the above 'Calvin and Hobbes' joke BUT picture this: a Halloween party featuring Steve as Calvin and Sam as Hobbes.  
> Bonus: Clint shows up dressed as Captain Crunch, under the impression that Sam intended to be Tony the Tiger. Tony is upset because he actually DID dress up like Tony the Tiger, and how dare Sam infringe upon his brilliant word-play outfit? Scott, who is wearing the same Tigger costume he's worn for the past eight Halloweens, is like WTF why is everyone copying me this year, get your own look guys. Nat is Rey and it's amazing.  
> Alright I'm done. 
> 
> YOU GUYS your response to this series so far has been amazing! I am swamped with work deadlines this week but fully intend to respond to all of your beautiful, sweet comments at the weekend - each and every one is appreciated and honestly MAKES MY DAY. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!!


End file.
